Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story; your comments are gratefully received. The usual disclaimers apply, and I own none of this. Please read and review, thank you.
Chapter Seven: A Pole Apart.
The water pageant began at noon. Barges had been decorated to look like dragons and sea monsters, that spat fireworks from their gaping mouths. Other barges were hung with crimson hangings that disguised the musicians who played as the new Queen was rowed towards the Tower. The Mayor, Alderman, Liverymen, and all the City Guilds, formed the flotilla that escorted Anne to the Tower for the first of four days of coronation celebrations.
Arthur watched nervously from the battlements of the Tower as the water borne spectacle unfolded, squinting against the sun's reflection on the rippling water. Even after all these years, he could still identify the standards hoisted up on the barges that floated down river. The only one he had not seen before was the biggest of them all. It showed a falcon wearing a crown, perched on a barren tree stump; a tree stump that had burst to life at the fertile touch of the falcon's claw.
Over and over, he ran through exactly what he had to do when greeting Anne at the gates of the Tower, and escorting her inside. It was this kind of pomp and ceremony that had him running for the hills all those years ago, and now here he was again, right in the thick of the biggest coronation on English soil for well over a century. He had over-heard one of the City officials moaning that the cost was in excess of two hundred thousand ducats. It was while he was mired in his own thoughts that the sound of a woman's voice startled him.
"Hello there," she said. Then seeing the startled look in Arthur's eyes as he whirled around, she added: "I didn't mean to frighten you. I'm Ursula Pole; the Countess of Salisbury's daughter. Your second cousin, I believe?"
"Sorry, I thought I was alone. But, it's nice to meet you." replied Arthur as he turned to face her properly. She was dressed in simple blue and silver gown of silk, with a French hood complimenting the delicate features of her face. He remembered her family well. "So, what is your role in the coronation?"
Ursula rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.
"Well, myself and Gertrude are in charge of the Queen's Wardrobe. We're making sure everyone is fitted with the correct ceremonial robes. I just needed to take some air," she explained. "Insane, isn't it?"
"What is?" he asked, decided that he wasn't too bothered about who Gertrude was.
"All of that," she made an expansive gesture towards the flotilla, still thrilling the crowds along the banks of the Thames. "Gertrude was telling me all about the new Queen."
She stopped abruptly, and Arthur recognised his cue to look scandalised and insist she tell him all about what the mysterious Gertrude has to say about the merits of Queen Anne. But, Court gossip was another of life's ills that had him running for his life. He turned his face resolutely to the flotilla, and noticed that the Queen was now disembarking. With a silent sigh of relief, he bid the lady farewell, and ducked down the steps that led to the forecourt of the fortress. It was time to make his first public acknowledgement of Queen Anne.
Queen Anne stepped off the flotilla, and swallowed the wave of nausea that swept over her. She was hot and flushed from sitting so long in the late summer sunshine, and her face was damp with sweat. But none of her ladies noticed as they fussed about her gown and hair. So, she said nothing, and looked back at the barge bobbing in its moorings. She had travelled by barge a hundred times and more, but that was the only one that had made her nauseous. She sent up a silent prayer that she was not falling ill now; not on her coronation day.
She took a deep breath of air, and turned to look up at the Tower, where her brand new apartments awaited, and felt a surge of excitement. A surge strong enough to make her forget how rotten she had begun to feel.
"This is it, sister."
Anne turned to find Mary, her elder sister, at her side beaming brightly. Finally, Anne had someone that she could talk to in confidence.
"Wasn't the pageant wonderful?" Anne gushed as she pulled Mary into a hug. "Did you see the dragons breathe their fire?"
"Oh, and the boys from Eton were such sweet things," Mary added. "The voices of angels, the lot of them!"
There was so much that Anne wanted to gossip about with Mary, but their time was still limited, and so many events lay ahead. Their talk would have to wait. At that moment, Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the Tower appeared; Arthur at his side. The two men approached her, and the crowds fell silent again as they sunk into low bows of deference.
"Your Majesty," Arthur addressed her first. "I offer you my services as a humble subject to his Queen."
Anne smiled and held out her hand for him to kiss.
"Rise, Your Grace," she bid him, gratified at his address. He was a subject, and she was his Queen. She glanced around, making sure that everyone had taken note.
Once Kingston had made his address, Anne and her retinue were escorted into the Tower itself. The Apartments had been refurbished to include a new Great Hall, a spacious new dining room, and a sleeping chamber for her. The ladies took it all in with wide eyed wonder, but Anne was tired already. She lay down on the bed, still dressed in her red velvet gown and coronet, even with the silk slippers still on her feet.
Once the men had gone, and they were alone, she ushered Mary inside the bed chamber so they could talk privately. The nausea had been playing on Anne's mind all day, and she had an inkling as to what it could be. As soon as Mary stepped back through the door, Anne was on at her.
"I am with child," she said, sitting up against the bolster of the bed. "I am sure of it."
Mary looked less than convinced as she sat down on the edge of the mattress. A frown darkened her features, and her gaze raked slowly over Anne's body, taking in the completely flat stomach and less than voluptuous breasts.
"It is still early days, Anne," she replied. She didn't mean to dampen her spirits; rather she wanted to curb Anne's enthusiasm lest she be in for a bitter disappointment. "Two months, at most."
"But, now I think on it, I am late," insisted Anne, not hearing her sister's words. "And when I got off the barge I was nearly sick, and sometimes I feel hot and dizzy. They're signs, are they not?"
Mary hesitated before answering. "They're signs of a lot of things, and I pray it is a child because if its something you ate you'll be throwing up all over the archbishop of Canterbury at the formal crowning."
Anne looked crestfallen. She lay back on the mattress, and looked up at the canopy. Her hands travelled down the front of her bodice, as though trying to detect the tiny jump of a baby pulse through the fabrics. Her eyes shone in the semi-darkness, and Mary began to feel guilty for dashing her hopes. To compensate, she tried another tack and make it sound as though she were taking Anne seriously.
"How late are you?" she asked. "And, are your breasts tender?"
"Two weeks, at least," replied Anne, a new spark of hope glittering in her eyes. "I suppose they are more tender. I think they're swelling, too?"
"It is too early for that," Mary laughed. "Look, Anne, don't get your hopes up, please. Just wait it out for a few more weeks, at least, before you tell anyone."
"So you're saying I could be with child?"
"I am not saying you aren't," Mary replied, picking her words carefully. "Just, be careful."
But Anne was barley listening. Her eyes were glazed with a far away look as she settled down for a nap. "I am," she stated. "I can feel it. There's a son in there."
By the evening of the fourth and final day of the ceremonies, everyone involved was tired and irascible. What had started out as an extravagant carnival had become wearisome and exhausting. The men who'd been honoured along with Anne; Arthur among them, had not slept for two days, and spent that whole time on their feet. The over night vigil had been tedious in the extreme, only for it to be followed by the terrifying moment of crowning.
Everyone who'd been packed inside the Abbey held their breath as the new Queen's head was anointed with the sacred oil. Not until she had been led back to the throne, and the archbishop lowered the crown of st. Edward the Confessor onto Queen Anne's head, did they breathe more easily. Then the archbishop's voice rang out clearly across the hall, carrying to the rafters:
"Anne, Queen of England, Ireland, and France."
All the years of planning and plotting for the Boleyn's had finally come to fruition.
This day belonged to Anne alone, and not even King Henry was permitted to divert the adoration of his people away from her. He watched the whole ceremony from behind a latticed screen, concealed from view in a box that had been made especially for the occasion. Only the French and Venetian ambassadors kept him company.
Arthur, therefore, found himself at a loss. Once the Queen had sampled the wares, and distributed the platters of food out among her subjects, the meal finished, he found himself lurking on the fringes of the celebrations like a spare part. Just to give himself something to do, he brought a nice decanter of Burgundian wine to the Queen's table. Anne received it graciously, and introduced him to some of her ladies. He met Jane Parker, Jane Seymour, Mary Boleyn, and Mary Howard (the daughter of Thomas Howard). But even as he left, he'd already forgotten which name belonged to which face. All those Mary's and Jane's simply melted into one another to form a beautifully decorated single entity.
Back among the crowds, he found himself alone again. His sister was dancing with her husband, the Duke of Suffolk. Margaret was immersed in conversation with her ladies, and two admiring gentlemen. No doubt, some toe curling game of Courtly love, and Arthur was loathe to intrude. But, as one woman broke away, and began walking towards him, the recognition hit him and he elbowed the dancing couples aside to reach her.
"Lady Elizabeth," he called to her and reached for her arm.
She turned to look at him, and smiled brightly.
"Your Grace!" she cried as she finally recognised him in return. "How lovely to see you."
It was Elizabeth Stafford, daughter of the duke of Buckingham.
"I hear you're married to the duke of Norfolk, now?" Arthur said as they bobbed and weaved through the crowds to stand at the sides and talk in some degree of privacy.
"That's right," she said, wrinkling her nose. "But lets not talk about him. He is an impossible man!" she laughed.
"So, how's your father? Not like him to miss a party; most surprised at his absence."
"Don't be too surprised; he's dead."
Arthur was instantly gripped by the most acute embarrassment. "Oh!" he stated flatly. There was so much he needed to catch up on, if only to avoid moments like these.
"Executed, in fact," she added.
The atmosphere grew heavy between them, and Arthur found himself at a loss for words.
"Sorry," he feebly replied, and diverted his gaze back to the dancers and minstrels.
The conversation with his old friend limped to a staggeringly embarrassing halt, and sensing the awkwardness she had caused, Elizabeth backed away. Making an excuse about needing to see her impossible husband, she melted into the crowds, leaving Arthur alone again. He took a glass of wine from the tray of a passing servant just to give his hands something to hold. His own wife, of course, was not expected to attend the Coronation. In fact, he had not seen her at all since the trial. Catherine was travelling out to Ludlow to fetch her daughter back to London. Arthur understood, of course, but her absence left him completely alone.
Still acutely embarrassed by his faux pas with Elizabeth, he suddenly thought of Ursula Pole, again. If he needed to catch up and avoid any more Stafford moments, he decided she sounded like a good place to start. Mary had stopped dancing, and Arthur found her nursing a drink with Charles Brandon.
"You haven't seen Ursula Pole have you?" asked Arthur as he finally reached her.
"Ursula Pole?" repeated Mary, sounding both curious and confused.
Charles grinned widely. "You old dog, Arthur," he guffawed. "Didn't take you long to get some lusty wench, did it?"
Mary shot him a withering look, and Arthur tried to sound amused.
"No really, its not that," he replied. "I just need to talk to her about something that happened at the Tower."
"Oh I see," Charles said, tapping his nose. "What happens at the Tower, stays at the Tower. That's right, isn't it?"
"No really, its nothing improper!" Arthur insisted.
"Charles!" Mary snapped, and the duke shut up immediately. Arthur had to admire Mary's command of the situations. "Don't listen to him, Arthur. He is teasing you."
"I was not!" Charles retorted, looking scandalised. "I was congratulating his grace on his success among our esteemed lady folk."
Mary sighed deeply, and turned back to Arthur. "I have not seen lady Ursula for a while now, but I am sure Lady Exeter knows where she is." Mary got to her feet, and frowned as she searched the faces around them. "Gertie!" she called out at the top of her voice.
"Coming, Your Grace!" a disembodied voice replied from among the crowd.
"Gertrude would be so good as to take my brother to Ursula Pole?" asked Mary as a woman emerged from a knot of revellers, drink in hand and flushed in the face.
"Of course," Gertrude replied, beaming up at Arthur. He wondered if this was the same Gertrude that Ursula had spoken of three days ago, at the Tower.
"Follow me," she instructed him as she led the way through the Abbey, and out into the open. Outside, couples were canoodling out of view of the crowds inside. Others talked in privacy, and a few had taken to jumping into the river to cool off after another hot late summer's day.
"You know what Ursula is like about crowds," Gertrude said. Arthur was about to say he didn't actually know Ursula at all, but she gave him no time to say anything. "She'll be out here somewhere, though."
Gertrude lifted her skirts above her ankles as she trod carefully over the churned up dirt tracks that led to the gates of the Abbey. Outside, it was refreshingly cool, and Arthur relished the breeze on his skin. Gertrude seemed happier, too. But, there was no sign of Ursula.
"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," she said with a shrug. "We better get back inside to witness the rest of the farce!"
"I prefer to stay out here for a while," Arthur replied.
"I'll stay with you, then," she said as she joined him leaning against the railings that ran around the perimeter of the Abbey. "I'm Gertrude Blount, by the way. I am married to your Cousin, Henry Courtenay."
"The Marquis of Exeter?" he asked. "My aunt Catherine's son?"
Gertrude smiled. "That's him," she confirmed. "He's being made to serve the Queen today, while Ursula and I had to make sure everyone had the right ceremonials. Yes, all us royal rivals have been corralled into serving her majesty. My nephew is Henry Fitzroy, your bastard nephew. Even he is here in some slavish capacity. Small wonder poor Princess Mary isn't here devoting herself to serving the Queen."
"Mary is no longer a Princess," he pointedly reminded her, growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. Gertrude paused, and sighed.
"Look, I don't have to like Boleyn, I only have to serve her," she replied defiantly. "And I am serving her."
"No one seems to like her," Arthur stated. "What has she done to you? What has she done to anyone, beside capture the heart of a man who everyone thought was married already?"
"You miss the point, Your Grace," replied Gertrude, still not relenting an inch. "First of all, she was meant to be married to the earl of Northumberland. Then, she was courting the poet, Thomas Wyatt-" she broke off, her face creased in confusion. "- or was it the other way around? I think she snared the poet, and then drew up a contract between herself and the earl after the poet was hopelessly devoted to her. But, her family also wanted her to marry the earl of Ormond. If that is not enough to cast doubts in your mind, sir, then what do you make of the King's relations with Mary Boleyn?"
"I think its ancient history," Arthur replied firmly.
"Again, you miss the point," Gertrude interjected. "Before you reappeared, and everyone thought that the King and Catherine of Aragon were married lawfully; that marriage was being tried on grounds that it was not legal because yourself and Catherine had known each other carnally. Well, is this marriage not unlawful because the King was fucking Anne's sister for about two years before he met her? What do you think of that?"
"What I really think is that we should cease and desist with this conversation right away," replied Arthur. "You're my cousin's wife, and my nephew's aunt, Lady Blount. Your private thoughts are your own, but I would be careful who you confide in. Good day to you."
With that he pushed himself away from the railings and made for the entrance to the Abbey. But, as he went, Gertrude's voice trailed after him.
"Just wait until you get to know her," she said, teasingly. "You'll soon be seeking our opinions."
Arthur very much doubted that. He didn't turn around, instead he kept on walking, and re-entered the Abbey, where he ran straight into Ursula.
"The duchess of Suffolk said you were looking for me?" she said.
She was dressed now in a gown of red velvet, demonstrating her status as a noblewoman of the Realm. He looked back over his shoulder, to where Gertrude was now in conversation with another woman. He couldn't shake the feeling that she had lured him outside just to vent spleen on him alone and out of earshot of the others.
"Are you all right?" asked Ursula, seeing his complexion blanch.
"Fine," he replied. "I was just talking to your friend out there. Gertrude."
"You'll have to excuse her," Ursula laughed. "She can be rather forthright in her views."
"Forthright!" he laughed. "Its borderline treason."
"She doesn't mean it," Ursula pointed out. "She and Catherine really are very close friends, and she resented what the Queen did to her."
Arthur let it go as they returned to the celebrations inside Westminster Hall. The Queen, he noticed, had retired from the top table, presumably exhausted from the events of the last four days. But, the dance continued.
"So, what did you want me for?" she asked. "A dance?"
Arthur had had enough of trying to catch up on the events of past few decades. He was fed up of being alone among crowds of people he barely knew. One attempt at integration led him to causing great offence; the second nearly led to treason. Yes, he had enough of trying to talk to these people. He smiled, and gave a small nod.
"Yes," he replied. "Just a dance. Nothing more."
Ursula returned a shy smile, and blushed endearingly as she held out her hands. He took them in his own, and pulled her in close. Together, they danced to the slow, lilting tune that was being played by the musicians. He glanced up, over Ursula's shoulder, and spotted his brother in law. Charles looked back at him with a grin, and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Suppressing a laugh, Arthur buried his face in Ursula's shoulder as the dance continued.
